Tag: relationship

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000667

I’m on my business trip. The one that will keep me from home for three days. Belle had previously said she wanted me locked up while I was away, but she neglected to specifically order me into the device this morning before she left. I seriously considered not putting it on for a while. It would be so much easier, I thought, to sit in a plane for a few hours and get up and speak in front of hundreds of people if I didn’t have a fucking plastic tube locked on me. Since she hadn’t said to put it on, maybe she had a change of heart.

travel2_export
Inmate 000667 in solitary confinement

I knew what she wanted, though. I also knew, considering my porn/masturbation habits while in bland corporate hotel rooms, that I’d minimally be edging myself pretty much nonstop. I also knew that eventually my hormone-addled brain would find a way to sabotage my best intentions and I’d find myself covered in hot, pungent spunk. So I put myself in the device and snapped plastic lock 000667 into place. You can see it there in my mug shot on the right if you want proof (kinda blurry since I took it with my phone).

The thing is, I’m pretty sure I’d have blown it already had I not been locked away. Belle allowed me to bring her to orgasm with the vibrator last night and then let me spend about 10 minutes beating off…I really, really wish I could be doing it again right now.

Before that, Belle and I talked about the “week off” we just went through. It was a full week off since, besides the three orgasms she let me have at the B&B, she also let me come inside her Saturday morning (which I didn’t really expect). Thing is, it wasn’t all that great of a week, from my perspective. Yeah, I liked the spurting, but I actually missed the feelings that come from being denied by Belle. I like the kind of mate I am when I don’t come (either by my own hand or while having sex with her). I’m not as attentive to her needs and my timely contributions to the housework suffers. I’m not an asshole or anything, but I can totally see how I’m different and I don’t really like it.

It’s interesting to me how simple it is to fuck with millions of years of evolutionary programming. My inclination, when having “normal” levels of sexual release, is to be more self-interested and less aware of her and her needs. In the past, my interest in courting her was directly related to how badly I wanted in her pants. But it was always fleeting. Once I got what I wanted, things would go back to normal which all too often meant she carried too much of the household load and my interest in TV was greater than my interest in her. I am not unique. I suspect that the vast majority of men are like I was. To reverse all that behavior, all it takes is to move control over my sexual release to her. That simple little thing, and I’m all about her all of the time, constantly looking for ways to make her happy, which in turn, makes me happy. Happier than I am when I can come whenever I want.

The change in me is so profound, I’m sure it leads her to question a few things (at least it raises questions for me). Like why should she have to do this to make me a better mate? After considering it for a while, I think all we’re doing is exploiting how the male brain works. We’re basically tricking my brain into engaging a prolonged and heightened “courtship mode” – not unlike how it was operating at the very beginning of our relationship – by withholding its ability to do the one thing reptilian male brains were programmed to do: spread the seed. So it’s still me, still my feelings about her at work, but amplified. At the end of the day, I don’t ever want Belle to feel guilty for denying me. I don’t want her to feel as though she’s being unfair or mean to me. As I said, I like how it feels. Perversely, the more she lets me pleasure her while I’m denied, the closer I get to her. If she let me fuck her to orgasm five times a week, I’d find it easier to drift away from her. That’s irony.

Personally, I think we’ve stumbled upon the secret to a happy relationship. I think everyone should be doing it.

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Thrice

Belle let me come three time last weekend. Three times in three days (only once inside her). I feel somewhat bad for not coming over here and posting about it (and even worse that I ignored the blog all week), but the truth is, after the three orgasms, I didn’t really feel like it. Every little bit of whatever energy I use to write what I write had left me (plus, I have a very busy week at work). Not only that, but (of course) my sub reservoir was totally drained.

The first orgasm was pretty straightforward. Shortly after getting in the room, Belle and I got into bed. I fingered her to orgasm and she told me to have my way with her. For a few moments, I thought she was going to keep me waiting, but she’s excessively nice to me. My resulting orgasm came quickly and explosively.

The second time, she had me blindfolded and tied to the bed and had just abused me with the flogger, ice, and wickedly cruel nipple clamps. Again, she’s crueler in my mind and I though she might have been stroking me just to leave me edged and horny, but she kept going and I eventually came like fountain. Whatever had spurted onto her hand she smeared all over my lips. All I could do was laugh hysterically at this, though I kept my mouth clamped shut and wiped the spunk off as soon as my hand was free.

The last time was Sunday morning. She had ridden me to her own orgasm and wanted me to go too, but something wasn’t quite right. I couldn’t come from underneath and had her roll over but couldn’t come from on top, either. Eventually, she let me jerk off and that felt almost as good as fucking her considering how long it had been since I had been allowed to enjoy my own hand all the way to pleasurable orgasm. Masturbation is quite unfairly derided, in my opinion. I really like it (and miss being able to do it).

The week passed with me slacking off on my duties until Wednesday when I finally confronted the mountain of laundry that had piled up. I don’t feel as though I’ve been of much service to her, partly because she’s on her period now but mostly because, as I said, all my submissive juices were juiced out of me. Yes, I’m one of those guys. I told Belle last night that I wanted us to get back into the rhythm, though. My 41-year-old libido has finally recovered from all the ejaculatory action of the weekend and I’m getting horny again. I know I said in my last post that I wanted to take a break from the dom/sub thang, and I guess we did, but mostly because I wasn’t energized and she was on the rag. I still haven’t come since then or had any sexual contact with her at all. She never released me from my servitude, though, and I’ve been faithful to her control over my sex even as the meat between my legs made it presence known this morning in a way that suggests the lizard within is starting to stir.

She’s left me out of chastity for the week, so this morning as I was in the bathroom getting ready for work, I snuck a little edging in. I’ve been counting how many times I can rapidly stroke myself before feeling the urge to come. I got up to over 120 before having to pause the first time. After a few moments of rest, I’d go again and find each time the number – unsurprisingly – got smaller. The last time, I only got to the high 30s before having to stop (and even then, a little bit leaked out). I bet I got about 400-500 strokes in. As long as she keeps me out of lock-up, I’d like to keep up this training program. I’d like to be able to stroke myself 1,000 times and not be close to coming. We’ll see how it goes.

I don’t expect to get much more time to practice, though. I leave town Monday for a three day conference and she’s said she thinks I need to be locked up before I go. Normally, business trips are an opportunity to consume porn and jack-off like a rabbit, but that was all before the new paragdim. If I’m really lucky, her period will end soon and she’ll let me service her a bit. That’ll leave me nice and worked up for the trip, and well motivated to keep up the blogging.

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Running on empty

It’s remarkable to me how much orgasm denial changes who I am. Of course, these changes are well documented just about everywhere, but I still find it fascinating how accommodating and attentive I can be made simply by denying me access to the cock. And, conversely, how quickly it all goes away after a couple of orgasms.

The first orgasm of the week was Sunday’s. The very nature of how she allowed that one and the length of time it had been since my last one left my reservoir of submissive energy pretty well full. Tuesday, she rode her cock to an orgasm and then immediately allowed me one, too. It was just as intense as the one from Sunday, but it left my bathtub full of sub energy totally drained. I can’t tell if that was because it was a second event so close to the first or because if it was the nature of it (basically, in conjunction with giving her an orgasm). The Sunday event wasn’t a “shared moment of passion” as much as it was a carefully choreographed demonstration of her control.

In any event, I found my entire attitude changed. I’m still going through the motions of the FLR lifestyle (laundry, cleaning, dishes, cooking, etc.) but I’m not getting anything out of it. In fact, it’s kind of pissing me off. Last night, I really should have folded the clothes that have been sitting downstairs for two days, but I couldn’t gather the motivation. Also, I notice my need to be constantly touching her has lessened. I’m not as interested in finding unexpected ways of serving her.

No, I’m not saying I’m over the whole thing. Not by a long shot. I still want to get back to that subbie frame of mind. It’s just that, right now, on the flip-side of a couple of orgasms, I’ve lost my motivation. And, as I said, it’s really amazing to me how frickin’ simple men are. You control this one thing and you control their entire being.

Yesterday, she put me back in the device. She noticed I had been putting my hand down my pants quite a bit (absentmindedly – hard to avoid) and felt my freedom has gone on long enough. She also wanted to help me refocus on the important things (her). She told me if I was good, she’d let me out during our B&B weekend (a week from today). I’m not sure if she’s seriously threatening to keep me locked up for what was planned to be a romantic weekend of debauchery or if she’s just talking. Before, I would have thought her to be too sympathetic to my plight to actually carry though on that kind of threat, but now I’m not so sure.

In chastity mechanics news, I’ve swapped out the segment ring from my PA and replaced it with a curved barbell with 5/16″ balls. Since there’s no way I can used the ring to enhance security, I’ve decided it took up too much room in the tube. Sometimes, it’d line up with the slot during erections, but other times it gets stuck in there and pushed over to one side or the other. Not super comfortable. The barbell and relatively small balls will cause fewer issues. We’ve been talking about the Steelheart kind of seriously and the prospect of it has made me more and more critical of the CB6K. I’m really getting tired of the hard corners on the A ring and have a particular disdain for the joints between the ring and the two pieces that hold the pins. I find my scrotum gets trapped in there. It hurts and irretates my skin. This morning, as I was enduring morning wood, visions of the smooth, solid ring of the Steelheart danced in my head.

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Reward

Holidays suck. Yeah, OK, the kids like them and it’s always nice to see the family, but at the end of the day you probably spent more time with them that you really needed to and most assuredly you ate too much and, when it’s all over, you have to wonder where half the weekend went. It’s not so bad with proper holidays that give you an extra day or two off, but holidays that fall on a regular weekend day just blow.

Another reason they blow is that they tend to disrupt the whole “lifestyle” element of where Belle and I are right now. I wasn’t able to act around her in all the ways I felt compelled to, but a few things here and there got through. Like when all the men were downstairs watching the Masters in their big comfy recliners while the women were either upstairs or sitting on uncomfortable folding card chairs behind the men. Until, that is, Belle came in the room and I got up to let her have my big comfy recliner and I sat down on the floor at her feet. Not in a creepy servile way, but it was enough for me to let her know I was still in the headspace and still thinking about her.

Later, in bed, we talked about how happy we both are with things at the moment. I’m still kind of tingling from her show of control Saturday night and she’s very pleased with my attentiveness. So far, it’s been very much a win-win for both of us. She released me from the chastity device “for a few days” as a reward. She told me she knew that, in some part, my attitude has been shaped by the device, but she expected me to maintain the same exemplary level of service she has seen the week prior. If not, I’d go back in sooner. I told her I’d do my best.

We talked briefly about how long I had been locked up and that led to her tell me she didn’t like keeping score regarding enforced chastity duration or orgasm control. She feels like it’s too much work and pressure for her, so we’re not doing it anymore. Before, I was always trying to push my limit and see if I could break my previous duration records. Of course, I now know this is entirely backward. It’s not necessarily about how long I’m able to go locked-up or denied, it’s about the fact that I’m locked-up and denied because she wants me that way. Letting go of that need to exceed my previous “achievements” and just going with the flow of what she’s telling me to do, I think, has helped me move to a new level of submission.

In any event, getting out was part one of my reward. For part two, she allowed me to fuck her with the sole purpose of achieving my own orgasm. No foreplay, no pretense. She didn’t even get entirely naked, only removing her pajama bottoms. For a few seconds, I had a little wave of panic that I wasn’t going to be able to do something that was so centered on me, but after rubbing the cock over the her pussy for a few seconds, the reptilian beast woke up and, struggling through his chains, got to work.

I tried to last but couldn’t go very long. It’d been two weeks with practically no contact with the cock at all and no emissions other than copious precum. That, and the way she approached the act (as a “reward” and not connected to any overt act of pleasuring her) made it feel different than normal sex. Almost procedural or as an act of maintenance or something. In any event, she was able to help maintain that wall between those times when it’s about her and when it’s just about me and, since she was still partially clothed and we performed zero foreplay, made my time seem perfunctory. Note that I’m not complaining about that. It very nicely, whether intentional or not, reiterated that sex belongs to and is for her, not me. The sex that’s for me is not the same. It’s of a lower value than hers, undeserving of elaborate artifice, and is not unlike the positive reinforcement one would use during the training of an animal.

I know that sounds harsh – and I can’t say for sure it was her intention – but that’s how it seemed to me. In retrospect, I find it very hot. It has certainly left within me the lingering impression that she’s in control. Keeping my release a separate act from those centered around her pleasure would probably be a very good strategy for her to maintain my headspace.

When I came, it was in a torrent. Spurt after spurt, it felt like a bucket’s worth. I didn’t even get it all out since, even after I had withdrawn, it continiued to leak out of me. Two weeks worth of bottled up spunk poured out of me after about three minutes of effort on my part. Today, I hardly feel like it happened at all. I’m still really horny.

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Lizard vs. Bunny

I look forward to Saturday night all week long. It’s the one night I can usually depend on getting a little Thumper-centric action out of Belle. This week, based on what she described as my exemplary service over the previous five days combined with the fact that it’s been two weeks since my last orgasm (and it’s showing), I was especially expectational of being made a happy bunny.

Once we got into bed, the vibe didn’t seem like one that was going to lead to wild, passionate, kinky sex. She had assumed an aggressive “curled up for sleep” posture. Trying to go with the flow, I asked if there was anything she wanted me to do for her. She told me to get naked and rub her neck. After her top was off and she was laying on her stomach, I straddled her ass so I could get to work on her knotted up muscles. The little prisoner looked up mournfully at me as the tube it was in crushed my balls into Belle’s ass. She was making appreciative moans and groans and was obviously slipping into a deeper state of relaxedness.

When she had had enough, I rolled off and laid next to her. Still on her stomach, I gently ran my hand in circles over her lower back and ass. She really liked that. So much so, that after a short while, I heard a short little snory snort come out of her. She was asleep.

All at once, I was full of internal conflict. On the one hand, it was supposed to be my turn! She had dropped hints. I had give her the best service I knew how all week. Where the hell was my action?! On the other hand, I had made her feel really good. I had made her happy. Wasn’t that my goal? Isn’t this exactly what I signed up for?

Back in your hole, rabbit.

I blew out all the candles and rolled over to go to sleep. Normally, I spoon into her, but this time I turned the other way and curled around my pillow. I felt neglected. I felt horny. I felt guilty. And yeah, I felt a little angry. The submissive little bunny in my chest was beaten back by the sex lizard who, frankly, had had enough of his fuzzy, pink-nosed, floppy-eared bullshit.

I slept fitfully due to my brimming sexual energy and a painfully full chastity tube. At 4:30, Belle rolled over and put her arm across my chest and started to finger the hair in my arm pit. Her touch immediately set me on edge. Electrical fire flashed across my skin. I wanted it – craved her touch – but simultaneously desired her to get off me.

She asked how I felt. I struggled with an answer. A month ago, I’d have probably said something noncommittal and stewed, but last night I was able to answer, “Conflicted.” I confessed my frustration. That I expected attention, even though the terms of our dynamic gave me no reason to do so. She said she could feel my frustration. I apologized for being moody and said I didn’t want her to feel guilty. She said she didn’t feel guilty. The tube between my legs throbbed at that.

She wanted me to know that even though we could have had sex at that moment, we weren’t going to because she would only be doing it for me, not because she wanted it. Yes, she did want to reward me for my excellent service, but it needed to happen when she wanted it to and not at any other time. My behavior could not be used to manipulate her actions.

The way she said these things, in a measured and thoughtful way, totally obliterated the petulant sex lizard. My internal bunny came roaring back. She meant this. She felt it. My Belle Fille was in total possession of her dominant position over me. All my internal conflict dropped away leaving me feeling absolutely under her control.

I told her I understood completely and that I loved her, completely. Our sex belonged to and was for her. I apologized for having expectations I had no right to. We kissed and I burned. She rolled over and I spooned into her so insistently it was if I was trying to fuse myself to her.

This morning, I’m content. Yes, terribly horny – my sexual frustration rings through me like a struck bell – but content nonetheless. My wonderful, beautiful, caring Belle Fille has never wielded her sexual dominance over me more assuredly than she did last night and I am beyond appreciative to her for doing so. She makes me very, very happy and I know how lucky I am to have her.

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No guilt zone

Elle, over on Kink Unleashed, seems to be wrestling with something I suspect my Belle also has issues with. Specifically, is it OK to use enforced chastity to make a man act more attentive, affectionate, etc.? Is that manipulative? Is it fair? Feel free to read her post for yourself, but that’s my take on what she was getting at. I left some comments over there that I’d like to expand and extend here.

Right up front I’ll say, yes, I think it’s fair. More than fair. Assuming the underlying relationship is good – that the chastity isn’t being used to “fix” something – and the D/s layer of the stack is humming along, then I say any weapon in the arsenal of the dominant is in play in order to provoke a certain response in the sub. I’d go so far as to say the submissive would welcome being “manipulated” by their dom in such a way. I don’t want Belle to feel any guilt for using whatever power she has over me to in order to make her life a little closer to what she wants or needs it to be. As a matter of fact, I like that kind of shit.

Secondly, Elle seems to suggest (and I know Belle has similar thoughts) that it shouldn’t be necessary to lock up a cock to make a man a better mate. Well, OK, but I think about it this way: Remember back at the beginning of the relationship when everything was new and the guy was super sweet and affectionate and yada yada and all the sex was awesome? From my perspective as a chastised man, all chastity does is recreate the emotional and hormonal atmosphere from those heady, intense days of discovery. No fucking kidding, I have always loved Belle and always will, but what I feel for her now is just as potent and amazing as what I felt when we first started seeing each other. Just as potent, and just as real. Chastising me and denying me and constantly keeping me on an ever-upward spiral of sexual frustration does not create feelings that don’t already exist within me, it amplifies and magnifies and feeds them back on themselves until they consume my mind – just like when I first met and fell in love with her.

And guess what? I like it! I want to feel that way about her. I want my heart to race and the meat between my legs to swell at the slightest of her touches. I want to linger on every kiss. I want the memory of her smell to cause me to daydream about that little spot under her hair, behind her ear, that I love to nibble on. I want to be waiting on her every need and looking for any way I can score points with her. And, I suspect, she likes that, too. As Elle said, what girl doesn’t want an attentive lover? There isn’t one little bit of that attentiveness that is in any way made less genuine just because it’s instigated by a chunk of polycarbonate locked onto a dude’s cock.

I could go on, but Belle’s told me she’d like me to clean the kitchen and make her coffee for the morning. After that, I know there’s a load of laundry downstairs that needs to be folded. Daylight’s wasting.

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Beat the clock

Day one of the new FLR experiment thingy went pretty well. I was motivated to wash, fold, and put away a couple of loads of laundry, did all the dishes after dinner, went and gassed up Belle’s car for her before work so she wouldn’t have to, got her coffee ready for the morning, and gave her a foot rub before also giving her a neck and shoulder massage. And no, it’s not all hot and steamy, but I did get a certain satisfaction from serving her. I wanted to do all of it and would have actually looked for a few other things, but there’s only so much time. This morning, there were a few things I should have done for her, but she got to them first. It just means I’ll need to be a little quicker next time. At some point, I’d like her to remember she can order me around, but whatever. Baby steps.

When we were finally in bed, the previous night’s sexually induced insomnia had left me totally exhausted. Even though my brain wanted to shut down, my body was too interested in her to let it. The feet and back rubbing had me too worked up and since she was letting me continue to touch her body and was talking to me, there was still a glimmer of hope she’d let me go further. I sure as hell wasn’t going to blink and roll over to sleep.

I was pretty sure she was debating internally whether she wanted a little something. I skated the seam between being affectionate and loving (and, hopefully, encouraging her to make the decision I wanted) and being overtly sexual. It has to be assumed by her that when I’m in this state, I am always ready for sex, but I am not allowed to make that too obvious. I can’t ask, can’t suggest, can’t lobby, beg or imply, and can’t be excessively forward in my actions. In short, no matter how badly I want to go down on her or fuck her senseless, I have to show composure and wait for her to offer. If Belle had said thanks sweetie and turned her back to me, I would have been disappointed, but would not have been allowed to register that disappointment in any way. Because, of course, it’s not about me. Sex is for her now. What she wants and when she wants it with the only goal being that of her total satisfaction. If she wants to throw me a bone just because she’s nice, then good for me, but I can’t sit at the table and drool while looking at it.

In any event, she finally rolled over and looked at the clock. I expected her to next say it was time to sleep, but instead she told me I had ten minutes to make her come. Ten minutes!? I felt like Augustus Gloop in that scene from Willy Wonka where he first sees the room where everything is made of candy, but I fought the urge to eat everything in sight. I needed to pace myself knowing ten minutes was actually way longer than I needed to make her come. If I rushed it, I’d be leaving all that body access time on the table (and maybe get sucked into a tube and sent to the Fudge Room…or something). Eventually, I found my face planted on her snatch, hungrily eating her out. It was glorious. I wasn’t checking the clock, but when she finally went over the falls, it had been exactly ten minutes.

Afterward, I did not feel the usual pseudo post-orgasmic satisfaction I feel when she’s come. Her orgasm wasn’t quite enough for the reptilian sex monster living within. Vivid images of me fucking her flashed though my mind. The memory of the what the hard cock felt like in her wet pussy insisted that I move forward – that I mount her and fuck her. But that was impossible. If I had been out of the device, she would have felt my desire and might have even indulged me, but the plastic feels hard no matter the condition of what’s inside. Since I wasn’t demonstrating how badly I wanted her, there was no way for her to know it. When she declared the evening’s activities at a close and, of course, it was clear I would get nothing else, it was wickedly disappointing. But it was as it should have been and entirely what I should have expected.

I spooned into her, told her I loved her, and thanked her for the opportunity to make her happy.

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Behavior modification through sleep deprivation

OK, this is getting out of control. I only got about four hours of sleep on Sunday night due to abject horniness and was expecting a nice restful slumber last night since Belle was back in bed with me. So color me surprised when I found myself just fucking laying there at 2:30 AM still miles and miles away from sleep. I got up, took one Tylenol PM and finally fell asleep 30-60 minutes later. Two hours after that, I was up with Belle’s alarm and the kids coming in to see her. Now I feel like someone slipped me a date rape drug (I should only be so lucky). Can someone come over here and pull all the cotton out of my head? Thanks.

On the plus side, I had plenty of time to think. Mostly, of course, it was about sex. I basically wrote out an entire pornographic story in my head tailored to my specific kinks and triggers. Why can’t someone write something like that for me? OK, I will. Sooner or later. Other than porn, I thought about Belle laying there next to me and how badly I wanted her. As usual, I didn’t want her in any specific way. Just more of a general desire to consumer her very being. Or rub my entire face over her pussy until her scent permeates my every pore. Either or. But, it wasn’t to be. After some incredibly charged kissing, she told me she just wanted to cuddle. Without the pelvic gyrations, please.

After several hours of thinking on it, I proposed to Belle this morning that we conduct a bit of an experiment. We’re going to try to take this whole femdom/FLR thing and go balls to the wall with it. I’ve committed to serve her completely for the rest of the month in any way she wants. I’ll do any and all tasks she dishes out, without complaint and to the best of my abilities, even if that means she’s doing nothing. This will be hard for her since she’s wired to do things for others rather than have them do things for her, but she’s going to try. I told her I really wanted her to judge how I completed the tasks as if I were her servant, not spouse, and to reward or punish me accordingly in whatever way she sees fit. I, of course, will be looking for things I can do for her so that she doesn’t have to ask. In addition, I’ve reiterated that she is solely in control of when and how we have sex and I won’t do anything that usurps her authority. I told her I have faith that she’ll take my needs into consideration and give me access to sex as often as she thinks best, but that otherwise I was not going to lobby or obsess (openly) about when it’s going to happen. A new twist is that she’s not necessarily going to deny me orgasms for the time we’re running this experiment. If she wants me to have one, I will. If not, I won’t. This isn’t about denial as much as it’s about her control and my lack of it. However, as part of the experiment, she is going to keep me in chastity all month.

The point of all this is to plumb the depths of the desire within me to make her happy that flows from her control over me. Will I find a kind of release and/or satisfaction by folding all the laundry? Doing all the dishes? Making the beds? Serving her? Dunno. We’re going to find out. I have to admit, the idea that her control over my sexuality is actually modifying my behavior does, all by itself, turn me on. I’m kind of getting off on being manipulated, molded, trained, brainwashed even. To me, it’s a manifestation of my deep desire to submit to her – in any way she wants me to.

I’d make an excellent cultist, don’t you think?

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Control

There’s a spot in my chest, just to the left of dead center, where I experience the most twiggy, wiggy, warm, and lovely sensation. It feels like a piece of me about the size of my fist, somewhere deep inside, becomes less dense than the rest of me. It’s an airy, lifty kind of feeling. It’s where the fluttering carnivorous butterflies roost. I’ve come to crave that feeling. Call it the feeling of being controlled, denied, submissive, or all of them rolled together. Whatever. I’m feeling it now and it’s wonderful.

It’s been nearly a month since I last felt it like this. A month with crossed wires, illness, awkwardness, and absence. A month where I felt little flickers of the feeling, but nothing that kindled and flared like right now. I’ve read backward on this blog to try to find the moment where the feeling started to diminish. As far as I can tell, it was when Belle released me from the chastity device.

So, doing what I do, I think about this. What does the device represent? Denial, bondage, frustration, discomfort, and sometimes even embarrassment or humiliation. But ultimately, what it represents is control. Her control over that part of me that I ceded to her. At the end of the day, what I crave more than anything is that feeling of her control.

My Belle is such a caring and giving person, I think it’s sometimes hard for her to treat me in a way that best represents her right to control me (or, at least, the way I’d prefer she treat me). She gives me choices when I’d rather not have them. She asks how I’m feeling in a way that suggests a level of concern and maybe even worry I wish she didn’t have. In short, she’s just not mean enough about it. The chastity device, however, has no qualms about its job. It is always impassively cruel. It hurts, gets in the way, complicates my life, and frustrates the living hell out of me. It is the bad cop to Belle’s good cop. It does the dirty work for her and it’s with me every hour of every day. Remove the device, and then it’s all up to her.

And she’s very lenient. Last time she let me out, she gave me blanket permission to play with her property (but, of course, not to go all the way to actual orgasm). I ran with that. Whenever I had a chance, I’d rub it, stroke it, edge myself, and even go so far as to abandon some orgasms. I did not (until that one morning after our miscommunication) ever go so far as to actually achieve orgasm, but I went right up to that line – as close as a guy can. According to much of the femdom literature on the web (example), it’s the man’s excessive use of masturbation that limits his ability to properly serve his woman. I want to feel that on some level that’s a crock of shit, but for me, I know it’s true. When I feel this little knot of airy submissiveness in my chest, I crave opportunity to serve her (preferably sexually, but in all kinds of other ways I never though I would). And I am really and truly happy. But it’s not masturbation in the sense I’d define it that’s the problem (that is, jerking off until I come). It’s just having access to the plaything, and taking advantage of that access, that starts to bleed off my submissive energy.

And that gets us back to the CB6K. Maybe it’s because I’ve become so used to no longer having orgasms in anything like the frequency of the past, but being denied the feeling of a fat, hard cock in my hand is harder to deal with than not being able to pull on it until it squirts. That lack of access, of craving a full and satisfying erection, is what stokes the feeling I love so much. It’s the ultimate irony and the single most difficult aspect of all this for Belle to understand, it think. I derive pleasure and happiness from the searing physic pain of being forced to submit to her control.

I’m not sure what any of this means from a practical perspective. I suppose I’m arguing that she should leave me locked up more often than not. That she should let me out when she wants to feel a real cock inside her or wants me to come, but otherwise keep it encased. Or, when it’s not protected, that she forbid me to use it in any way that gives me pleasure outside her company. Sort of move the denial goal posts back a bit, if you will. In any event, I think I’ve identified the single ingredient that creates that happy little spot in my soul.

Absolute, smothering, unquestionable control.